Don't Build Your Hopes On Me
by the old phib
Summary: Will Santana leave to NY or stay in Lima to help Britt cross the street? How will Brittany cope or interfere with her decisions? Will their love be strong enough to survive even if the destiny's putting an obsacle in their way?
1. Homesick Silence

**Hi, guys! **

**This fanfic took life in my brain a couple of days ago and most specifically after my huge disappointment in the season finale. The disgust at the way that they meanly mistreated both Britt and Brittana basically made me think to an alternative end!**

**My story starts at the end of the summer after the senior year and it talks about future plans, love, hurdles and all that stuff like **_**feelings**_** that clearly at some point of the season RIB decided that Brittany and Santana didn't feel after all.**

**Let me know if you like the idea, this first chapter, the start of the story and stuff! I'm waiting for your comments and suggestions!**

**Enjoy the reading!**

**the old phib**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Homesick Silence**

"_All I want is you, will you be my bride?_

_Take me by the hand and stay by my side._

_All I want is you, will you stay with me?" (Barry Louis Polisar – "All I Want Is You")_

There are moments in our lives when we think that we spent all the words we possess, when the only freezing sensation that fills our heart is that there's simply nothing left to say, when we desperately would find that fucking something that helps us to break the miserable fatal silence that we're just trying to run away from. But we can't. We just can't.

It's mind-blowing and foolishly crystal clear. The silence, I mean. The immediate way it can knead our mood. And the funny thing is that it's all up to the circumstances. Have you ever thought about it? About the silence and the way it makes us feel? Our reactions merely depend on what is happening around us. The uncontrollable unpredictability of life itself is something that always keeps on surprising and scaring us. And so it works. The silence. The silences. There are two kinds of silences. There's the good one and the bad one. Right like policemen or cholesterol. There's that type of silence that is just relaxing and relieving, that silence when you're all alone under a sky filled by stars in a warm night of May, when you just listen to the distant chirp of the crickets and you let slip a tiny thought to someone you love, a silence that is just quiet and re-birthing, a silence that sets your mind at rest.

But unfortunately their silence is not that kind of silence. Their silence is the aching and destroying one. It's the silence that throttles us till it sees us choking. It's the silence that we try to avoid in all the possible ways, it's the silence that we run away from, the silence that forces us to blab and split some shit out of our mouth just in order to fill our ears with something that takes us away from the ghastly noise of a world that falls down to pieces. It happens when we can't but let the fear possess us, when we can't but think that maybe if we have nothing to say we'll really be at the end of everything, when we can't but fight the need to cry away the pain of that umpteenth goodbye.

The asphalt almost creaks in patches under the coarse surface of the tires of her black Toyota. Or anyway that is the fucking totally unpleasant impression that makes. The radio is airing some stupid kind of country song that none of them likes, but they argued because of the music just less than a couple of hours ago and it seems enough to the both of them. They're not the kind of persons that likes quarrels. Not even Santana. At least not with her. She hasn't ever been able to be mad at her for more than a couple of hours. She simply can't. It's just something that goes against her true nature. She's always hated to be mad at her, at the only one that could really see into her soul and reach that deep well-hidden side that no one else in her existence have never taken the trouble to seek. Astounding surprises are waiting for us when we try to dig under the surface. Brittany had to break so many layers of rock before she could touch the true nature of her girlfriend's intimate self, but the absolute devotion and abandon, that Santana has been taking care of her since that time with, can't but confirm that it was really worth it.

Some people says that the worst thing when we're passing through gloomy times is to remember our happiness. Ironic and cruel like the insensitive notes of "Cherish" begin to thump and slam against the walls of the car that haven't ever seem so narrow. Santana forces herself to swallow the unbearable urge to turn down the volume. Brittany almost hypnotized stares at the letters of the title of the song that flow on the display of the car radio like she can see also their kiss shine in it. Her blue eyes tremble in the exact moment that she feel it again, like it is now, on her lips, so she turns her head to the window and she tries to close her eyelids, part to choke back the tears, part to brand that perfect sadly past image on her eyes.

If only someone who doesn't know them see their distant bodies sitting on the seats of Santana's car now, no one in the earth will be able to guess who they are. Who they are for each other. That essentially is the only thing that really matters. Or at least it should be. Or at least in Santana's fucking point of view. But maybe she was wrong, right? Just wrong. Even if she still refuses to think such an horrible and insane thing. She unconsciously lightly shakes her head, her long brown hair flutters in the air carried by the wind that constantly takes refuge in the passenger compartment through thin draughts from the opened window. The perfection of her features is almost dramatic, but sadly useless in the meantime, since no one is watching. They sit like this, Santana silently driving with a look still full of struggling disbelief, defeat, losing and painful adoration, Brittany silently trying to pretend that she's sleeping, part to kid her own fucking self about the fact that she's okay with it, part to attempt to make Santana at least a tiny bit more comfortable saving her the trouble of keeping her gaze away from her eyes.

If only someone who doesn't know them see their distant bodies on the seats of Santana's car now, no one in the earth will be able to guess how madly they're in love with each other, how madly they would touch or even just lightly brush each other's hand, how madly they would need it right now, but how madly they can't. They just can't. Not after what happened. Not before what will in the space of a few tens of hours. The fresh landscape speeds around the car, the dawn would surely have been a wonderful amazement to look up to, but it's almost 9 a.m. by now and they both forgot even how much they like it. Santana is not the typical beauties-of-nature-addicted, she more a city-girl, but Brittany could make her love even the melting being breathless by a sun that rises on the lake. Even if the lakes that they visited during their summer trip were all fabulous, maybe Moraine Lake, the last one, would probably be her favorite one. Maybe. Yeah. She can't say it now. She can just think about it now, now that the fucking damned notes of "Cherish" finally stops stabbing her suffering heart, now that some stupid other shit begin to fill her ears, now that the only thing that she would hear is Britt's breath, choked by the music, now that the dread of the unforeseen starts to burn harder. She can just think about it. She can just suppose it. That maybe it would probably be her favorite one. Maybe. Yeah. If only it hadn't ended like that.


	2. Motionless Universe

**Hi, guys!**

**Thanks for all your story-alerts and favorite-stories! Now make me even more happy and review, tell me if you like the idea of the back-in-time, if you would like to read something specific and stuff!**

**Enjoy the reading!**

**the old phib**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Motionless Universe**

"_Used to steal your parents liquor and climb to the roof,_

_Talk about our future like we had a clue,_

_Never planned that one day I'd be losing you" (Katy Perry – "The One That Gone Away")_

_Three months before:_

When high school had begun four full years ago by then, if only someone had asked to Santana how did she imagine her future life during the last days before graduation, she would probably have just curled her lips and staring at the interlocutor with her I'm-sexy-and-I-know-it look she would have spelled out something about being popular, being the woman of the quarterback, being prom queen and hanging out with friends. Well, to be really really honest maybe her hoarse decisive voice would have put on a light shade of shy sweetness saying that part, that last part, the part about the hanging out with friends, she would have unconsciously smirked to the tall blonde girl standing next to her, the one with her fingers casually intertwined with her ones, but everything would have ended there. There in that revealing but for the most still incomprehensible glance.

Her dark eyes are quiet now, they definitely lost that constant undertone of arrogance or aggressiveness that painted them that time. Sure, no one else except for Brittany has deserved her sweetest and cutest looks yet, but, I mean, I honestly think anyone won't ever do it. There are looks that we save just for the ones that we love best. It's something uncontrollable and amazing and in the eyes of Santana that difference has always been clearly patent and incredibly disarming, maybe more than in the others' eyes. They're staring now with almost already nostalgic tenderness at the quite kitsch furniture of their favorite restaurant. Well, Brittany's favorite restaurant. Santana hasn't attended many in her life. You know, when you grow up in Lima Heights it's better you save your money for important things, like a second-hand car or, you know, a hot pair of heels. Her look finally falls on her Cheerio uniform that she won't have worn anymore in the space of just a couple of days. Maybe this is the real reason why she almost forced her girlfriend to wear it too this evening.

"_Why?"_

"_Please, don't ask, just … wear it. Please."_

"_But San, it's insane! It … it makes my arms look like I'm a truck driver or-or a sort of docker and … look! Even Lord Tubbington thinks I look horrible like th-"_

"_You are beautiful, like a dream come alive, incredible, …" Santana started to sing with her deep voice smiling at her and brushing the skin of her arms with her fingers till reaching her hands and holding them._

"_San, you know I hate that song-"_

"… _a center full of miracle, lyrical, you saved my liiife agaaain …"_

"_If I wear your stupid uniform, will you stop it?" Brittany asked to her then trying to cry over her perfects trills._

_Santana began to nod with her head smiling and continuing to sing more and more emotionally captured by the rhythm she could hear in her head:_

"… _and I want you to know babeee , I-I love you like love song, babe, I-I-"_

"_Okay, okay, you win, you win!"_

_And so she won and she set the seal on her conquest with a quick peck on the lips. On the other hand Brittany's feeble resistances lasted the embarrassing space of a few seconds._

It's just that she would to remember everything like this. She wants just to impress in her mind their images, motionless, young, in love, forever, without an end, now that an end is coming in big steps. It's a conscious and adult kind of sadness the instant feeling that fills her heart in the exact moment her gaze falls on the table where Britt first held her hand in public. She can still see their bodies still wearing those uniforms that made them the coolest girls in the school, she can still see her own expression, a bit worried, but sweet, she can still see the blonde tenderly smile at her innocent request, she can still see her fingers slip under hers and gently squeeze them.

"_Just … under the napkin." _

She unconsciously smiles at that memory. She's never liked thinking a lot, but now there's some weird sensation right deep in her heart, a sensation suggesting that she must take the right time to remember. For some seconds she stares also at her girlfriend sitting near her. Her dark eyes linger over her smooth outline maybe a bit more than her due. But who cares. She's not afraid. Not anymore. She's having dinner with her girlfriend and she doesn't fear that everyone can hear her mom's little accounts and good-humored mockings about how much she's always been gay and how stupid her parents were for not having understood it before that she came out saying "Mama, papi, I'm gay." She's just proud of it. Of everything.

Brittany feels just amused and madly in love like always since the first time she caught a view of Santana when she kindly turns her gaze towards to her who's hiding her beautiful face with her hands laughing at her mother. She's so comfortable and at her ease that makes her look even more breathtaking than she usually is. It happens every single time she even just shyly peers at her out of the corner of her eye. The world just seems to her like it's slowing down and down. She's always loved to think that it's just a magical gracious permission of something like the destiny or God or anything else manages the world out there, in order to allow to her to linger a tiny bit more on her astounding beauty. Maybe it happens to everyone looking at her, but this thought's always made her insanely jealous and anyway she loves the idea to be special. To her, especially.

The brunette's ponytail gracefully bobs when she turns her face towards to her, her lovely dark eyes are glancing at her like they're waiting for an answer. Now Brittany can lose also in the enshrouding deepness of her look and she doesn't absolutely mean to understand the reason of this unexpected chance, she's almost starting to compare her eyes in her mind with the distant beauty of a sky filled by stars when Maribel Lopez's garrulous voice abruptly awakes her from her perfectly adamant limbo. There's just one word able to distract her from that absolute perfection. The word that she tried to evade from during that all year. That horrible scaring word. Yeah. I know you guessed right. That word. _University_.

"Brittany, I understand you got into Perdue _university_?" the woman repeats a second time with her usual wholesome courtesy. Her eyes are raking the blue's of Brittany trying to read behind them in the same way - or sort of, actually – her daughter does. It's part of her personal conception of what a good parent should do. She's loved that sweet adorable ethereal blonde creature since the first time that she walked across the door of their house a bit shyly hidden behind Santana's back and, despite – she must admit it - it took to her a considerable amount of time to be able to understand her personal way to face the world, she's finally proud to declare that she's began to lean in her universe.

The brown eyes of miss Lopez are gazing at her, they seem sickening probing to her, even if they aren't and the blonde can also feel Santana's, almost burning the skin of her cheek while she's trying her best to force her long insanely tense legs to stay quiet and not to spread and bring the rest of her away from that table. Away from that question. Away from her miserable future. Away from that speech that her brain has put so perfectly aside, at least till that moment. That unpleasantly inevitable moment. Everything will change from now on. From this fucking speech on. Everything. Right in the exact wonderful instant that you've waited for during your whole weird life. Ironically annoying, isn't it? It happens when you think that you've never been so completely totally universally happy. And it pisses everything irreparably off. The instant righteous consciousness that your existence won't be the same. Not anymore. Not after the weighty undeniable personal admission that you've definitely failed.

"Not the university, the poultry farm." Brittany lets slip out of her lips and then tries to constrain her mouth in a stupid giggle. Maribel expression is not disappointed or astonished like she expected. It's just understanding, maybe a bit inscrutable, but reasonably enough sympathetic to make the blonde find the senseless strength to cope with the second but frightfully hard focal part of the real problem. It's like a knot that seems to obstruct her throat and block a fluid transit of the words, but there's no choice. Not anymore. She can't postpone the unavoidable. She's scared, but not by Santana's possible reactions, but by her helpless disappointed look, not by Santana's instantaneous response, but by the disgusting easiness that let her lie to her like this. She behaved like a liar for Santana's good, but – useless lying again - also for the good of her own lazy quietness. And she must face up with her own responsibilities. No more choice. "I can't go to either, 'cause I'm not graduating."

It takes a thin imperceptible fistful of seconds to the brunette's smile to definitely leave her full lips. Brittany's words clumsy flutter through the corners of her mind and then drop off with a sharp thud. The perfect lines of her face instantly freeze like the air is suddenly replaced by liquid nitrogen. The tender curve of her mouth that that evening was deeply in-love, fondly nostalgic and protectively cute in sequence becomes just straight and so wrongly bended into a grimace. _Britt's not graduating._ Sure, she knew about the poultry farm and stuff, but she wanted to go to New York - aside from her mama's opinion, that's mature and reasonable and sound but at the same time so less what-I-really-want – and she was pretty certain that she will have talked her girlfriend into believing again in herself, at least enough to convince her to leave to New York with her in order to become stars, together. She's a wonderful dancer and she can't understand why she underestimates her qualities at the point that she considers a job in a poultry farm the only possible chance for her future life. Santana perfectly knows that her girlfriend could actually dream in big. It's not a sort of psychopathically pathetically unrealistic American dream. She grew up in Lima fucking Highs. She's not exactly the deluded dreamer not-cynical kind of person, if you know what I mean. And, yeah, she knew that they haven't really thoroughly talk about it, but … well, they haven't talk about it. Virtually at all.

"What?"

* * *

**Review, review, review!**


	3. Merciless Timeliness

**Hi, guys!**

**From now on the chapters will be a bit longer. Hope you appreciate it… ;)**

**Thanks for your favorite-stories! Now let me what you think about my story!**

**Enjoy the reading!**

**the old phib**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Merciless Timeliness**

"_All your hopes and dreams they rise and fall,_

_Secretly,_

_A cacophony" (The Derby – "Melody of a Fallen Tree")_

"What?"

The perfectly warm scratched voice of Santana echoes almost clumsy and awkward slamming against the air that surrounds them and that, in the exact freezing instant that those words rolled out Brittany's pretending not to be upset nor trembling mouth, began to seem just annoyingly insanely icy and ungainly. Just like the sudden drop of a thick fog. Weird magical phenomenon the fog. The major part of people just hates it, while both Brittany and Santana have always been strangely subjected to its mysterious charm. They've never asked themselves the reason why, maybe they should blame the sensuous anxiety that comes along with its supernatural softness, maybe the too many horror movies that they've seen curled-up and wrapped one in the other in their respective beds before putting their cuddles on – sometimes the brunette wasn't just simply so scared as she pretended to be – maybe the sweet memory of the first time that the dump cold of an instant fog made them walk along arms linked on their way home.

"_Mom said I might wear something more heavy this morning, but I just saw the sun out of the window and I kinda forgot it's November." Brittany whispered unexpectedly taking Santana's arm and almost clinging on to it in order to feel the pleasant heat of her body._

_The electrifying sensation that suddenly ran throughout the brunette's spine was such a shake that she was near to sharply withdraw because of the fear and because of that little sign of affection and intimacy that was so uncommon to her. She was an only child and she'd never really had a friend. You know, a child hood spent in Lima Highs teaches you that you must decide if you want the others to be afraid by you or take the piss out of you._

"_I always forget the date too." she chose to answer then, because it didn't matter that it wasn't November either, but October and it didn't matter that she couldn't explain to herself at all the reason why she felt so senselessly relaxingly excited just by the tiny innocent touch of that wonderfully naïve blonde girl that she'd met just less than two months before. It didn't matter. Because Britt was the very first thing in her life that seemed to be just right. Right. Full stop. Stop with illusions and compromises. Right. Right and real. From any point of view. She'll have been her first best friend. And this thought, melt with the warm sensation of her body wrapped to her in order to protect her from that snug fog, of her heart someway relying on hers, produced in her soul the best peacefulness she'd ever experienced. It was in that moment that for the first time she clearly felt _the love_. What kind of she'll have found out later._

"Yeah." the blonde feels duty bound to pinpoint while the imperfect blend of a considerably unpleasant amount of thoughts and that scraped hurting question that's already floating in the air between her ears and the lips of Santana - that she can't still look in the eye - is turning her stomach, while her biggest only wish would be run to the toilet of the restaurant and throw up all her worries, while the hands where she just would take comfort are still away from her own lap. But Maribel's brown eyes are still staring at her, a bit worried, but surprised and incredulous, like she's trying to understand if her previous statement might be nothing but her own particular way to say something else.

"I was kinda glad when I found out that I was flunking 'cause it gives me the chance to do my senior year all over again and …" Brittany begins to explain trying even to clumsily smile at her. Maybe if she can enough persuasively pretend that she's totally okay with this, the speech will just end without any sort of unwelcome consequences. Santana's mom is nice and likeable and she likes the idea that she can have dinner with her sometimes, but … Not that Brittany doesn't particularly love her girlfriend's public _calientes_ outbursts, but most of all she hated to debate their relationship not safe from prying eyes and ears, even if those eyes and ears are just Maribel's understanding ones.

"I'll shot to my classes this time, …" the blonde continued, carefully avoiding any eye contact with Santana that she can clearly hear almost nervously flounder on the couch where they're sitting like she feels boxed in. At this point Brittany can't but rave some stupid shit about being a second-time class president, then her foolish and insane lies are completed. She can't find more excuses now. She's in her hands now. Like always.

Santana feels the muscles of her whole body like run across by an electric shock. It's rage. She knows it even too perfectly. It's a furious sensation that she learnt when she was just a child. You feel your fists tightening, your teeth clenching, your skin bursting into burning red flame, your ear blowing, your mind and your heart moving aside leaving space just to your anger that it's too big to be contained. _Britt won't graduate._ Her plans, her plans for them are totally fucked up now, but most of all Britt lied to her. She lied to her. Santana can handle lies, she handled her dad ones all the times that leaving he said "See you soon.", she handled her mamas all the times that she had to work overtime but on the phone said "I'll be home before you fall asleep.", she handled her abuelas all the times that insulting her she said "It's for your good.", she handled Pucks all the times that smelling of a perfume that wasn't hers he said "You're the only one.". But she can't handle any kind of lies coming from the one that she entrusted her own heart and life to.

"Why are you pretending that this is okay and why didn't you tell me?" the brunette yells at her closing a little her eyelids and wrinkling her forehead. The blonde shows no signs to turn to her, so Santana immediately tightens the other's bared thigh just under her Cheerio skirt. Her grip is a bit too aggressive and passionate to seem just a mere attempt to attract attention.

"What did you think it was going to happen to me?" Brittany instinctively answers finally locking her blue eyes in her dark ones. In her mind she planned to whisper it with her usual magnificently fatalistic grace and quietness, but the tone of her voice is scarily blurred and uncertain. Right like San's eyes. Why can't she understand that she just want to talk about it once they're alone? Breath, Britt. Breath. She won't understand the prayer in your eyes if you don't calm yourself down and you try to explain it to her, even if without words. Without unlocking her gaze from Santana's she mutters something about her awful grades at school, then she holds her hand that's still painfully wrapped on her thigh - Santana's nails inside her flesh by now - and she firmly squeezes it. Please, her blue eyes are begging. Please.

"Well, …" Santana begins, then she licks her lips and turns her gaze to her mother, "… maybe if Brittany is staying in Lima, then I should stay too." she ends, but before leaving the grip on the blonde's thigh she crushes her flesh even more intensely if possible, knowing it hurts. Letting slip a little grimace in pain Brittany perfectly understands how that was her way to say to her that she will have settled a score with her after.

* * *

The way to Santana's car that's parked just a dozen meters far from the footpath of the Breadstix's exit seems to Brittany the longest distance she's ever covered. Maribel's gone, they're by their selves now, no more excuses now, they have to talk. The dinner ended pleasantly and unconsequencely, but they both know that they just were pretending that nothing had happened. Brittany can just imagine how much expensive this kind of silence was to Santana, but she can't but be grateful to her girlfriend because of her maturity. She's changed so much since she met her, but it's a good kind of change. And the blonde often would be able to say the same about herself.

The sharp synchronous slamming of the doors of the car finally breaks the silence, Santana's eyes move to Brittany's legs. Five little but deep notches are clearly visible between her Cheerio skirt's fringes. Two of them seem to have bled.

"Sorry for the scratches." the brunette briefly murmurs, then her gaze meets Britt's eyes, she bits her lower lip, "I didn't mean you any harm." she continues, then she switches on the engine, "Or better, I didn't mean you _so_ harm."

The blonde doesn't know the reason why, but the car's always seemed to her the better place where facing hard speeches. Maybe its intimacy or the simple fact that the interlocutors are not forced to look at each other if they don't feel like doing. But this time it's just too hard.

"You know I always turn-on when you scratch me during sex, but this is like a bit too much." she jokes turning to her, but her words fall down like rocks on the ground and Santana serious continues to look at the street as if no one's spoken.

One minute later the car stops at the lights.

"Why did you lie to me?" the brunette whispers, her voice is awkwardly insecure and trembling, even if her fists are tightening around the wheel.

"San, I-I … I just-"

"Every single time I asked to you about your grades and your tests …" Santana interrupts her like she can't hear her speech, "… every single time I offered to help you, …" she continues while the lights turns to green and shines a little single tear that she rushes to dry off her cheek hoping that the blonde didn't see it, "… every single time you look at me saying that everything's okay while it's not."

The gap to the blonde's house is more and more narrowing and Brittany perfectly knows that she deserves the truth. That she deserved it also all the times that she lied to her, but there's still a thin well-hidden fear that's grabbing her heart, a sort of weird foresighted consciousness inside her soul suggesting that this would not be the right moment. They need to be quiet and most of all not mad and so temporarily unbelieving about the love that they feel for each other.

"I'm sorry." Brittany finally finds the boldness to say. She's not lying. She is really sorry, but she feels like she is all the same. And she _is _lying because she's not saying what she would to, she's not saying what she ought to.

"You're sorry." Santana unbelievingly mechanically repeats while her fingers clenches more and more tightly around the wheel, "This is all you have to say." she murmurs accompanying her words with a tiny bitter sad smile, her eyes dry, her carotid pulsing, her mind less and less sober while the rage is menacingly sprouting up one more time into her heart, "You lied to me, you fucked everything up, everything! And just-just because-because … why? Tell me the fucking reason why!"

One last lights and one last corner are missing to home. Brittany can't bear the weight of San's temper. She can glimpse her dark eyes into the driving-mirror and all that she can see is pain and disappointment. She hardly tightens her eyelids almost like with the night lights of Lima could vanish also her mistakes.

"I just thought it was the best thing to do." she confesses in a faint voice.

"Are you fucking bullshitting me?" Santana's yelling now, her nails plunged into the leather of the wheel, "The best thing to do?" she repeats like she can't still believe her even if Britt stands just silent and humble on the seat, "You've just ruined all that we've worked for, our senior year, our graduation, our plans for New York, our-"

"_Your_ plans for New York." the blonde coldly corrects her underlining that word with a clear critical shade in her voice. Sure, she was wrong to lie to her, but she really thought it was the best thing to do and now she would just a little bit of understanding and sympathy from her girlfriend. Maybe too much to ask? Since Santana found out that she was flunking her hand touched her just one single time and in order to hurt her. She made a mess of her whole life. Doesn't she deserve a hug either?

"Did you have a plan also for me? Did you?" Brittany highlights finally turning to her, "Because, if you didn't notice it, you wouldn't either take the trouble to inform me about it!"

The car parks near the footpath in front of Brittany's house and Santana turns off the engine. Point taken. The brunette licks her lips, her breath is just deep now, no more flames from her nostrils.

"I know that we haven't talked a lot about it yet, but-"

"It doesn't matter! Not anymore however. And I'm sorry if I fucked all your fucking plans up, I'm sorry if I'm _stupid_ and most of all I'm sorry that you _should_ stay in Lima!" the blonde cries opening the door while shining plentiful tears start to stream down her face. One instant later a clumsy slam puts an end to their conversation almost cutting her angry words in the air.


	4. Mute Rebirth

**Chapter 4: Mute Rebirth**

"_We have seen the rain together_

_We survived the pain forever_

_Oh, it's good to be home again" (Pink - "I Have Seen The Rain")_

* * *

Have you ever experienced the perfect merciless synchronous cacophony of a world that collapses? Santana doesn't exactly know if the echoing slamming of the passenger's door of her black Toyota was valid, but if not it surely would be the most resembling noise that she's ever heard. It's irritatingly continuing to boom inside her head even if the blonde hair of Britt has already vanished behind the entrance of her house. It's like having a headache, like feeling the blood pulse inside the arteries of your painful brain, it's like an annoying only flight from all those sharp thoughts that would hurt more, beyond all doubt.

Her dark eyes are suddenly wet again, she realizes it just in the moment that she catches sight of the light of Britt's room turned on through the thin glass of her window. Its sparkle in the dark of the night trembles dancing on the salty veil of tears and forcing her eyelids to blink and let her pain stream down her cheekbones and her snub nose. The now aching muscles of her hands spontaneously release the strong grasp on the wheel totally missing the strength that the rage's given to them till just a couple of seconds before. Her knuckles are still pale and her fingers are tingling. She can't still formulate any reasonable thought in her mind, but her body seems to be faster and readier than her brain, right like the sudden consciousness of Britt's lies, her future plans' crash and their previous quarrel achieved the only effect of freezing her rationality and assigning the due reactions to her body.

The brunette starts to hiccup bringing her right hand to her forehead and to her eyes in order to try to dry her tears away, to try to hide them from she doesn't know whom either, to try to contain her collapse as she can, then she mechanically turns on the engine and leaves.

Ironic and irritating as the weather sometimes patterns on our mood, right like contrariwise. It's like they're naturally and atavistically connected into a sort of constantly prodding memory that forces us to remind of the time that we were just lifeless material like the air, the flowers and the sea. The air is heavy and muggy around her car, the driver's window is completely drop when the pouring and boiling rain of a summer storm begins to fall down from the sky, the supporting stars mimicking the brunette's eyes.

One tiny minute later she parks on the asphalt in front of her house. Between their homes there's just one lights, but she didn't notice it either, her blowing head careless of its color. Her mama is still awake – she can say it because of the light in her room – in spite of the fact that her new second job is killing her, but she always waits for her to come home the night. This thought usually makes her cutely smile, but not tonight. It's just the sudden rumbling crash of a thunder that makes her finally realize that it's raining, her left arm is completely wet when she lifts the window and goes out of the car gracefully running until her tenement's door.

Her hand unconsciously temporizes tinkling her keys like she always does every single time when Brittany walks her home but can't sleep over. It's like their own personal sign to say to the other "kiss me goodnight, I'll miss you". But she's not here tonight. And she's not kissed her goodnight. Damnit. Sure, she knows that Britt's mad at her and she ought to be mad at Britt too, she thinks still tinkling and crying on the kitsch mat that her mama loves so much, but she needs her and most of all Britt needs her too. Whether she likes it or not.

"_B needs me. Sleepin' over her place. G'night. Love u." _she texts to her mom beginning to run under the rain in the direction of Brittany's house, while the seeping water starts to splash over her cellphone's display. It's a weird sensation. She can't describe it as unpleasant at all, even if her Cheerio uniform suddenly becomes glued to her skin and the water spurts through her eyelashes that she tries to tighten harder possible, obviously view permitting. To be honest she might cover the gap between her home and Britt's with her eyes closed thanks to all the times that they walked home the other, but this is totally not the right moment for this kind of attempts. Her sneakers gracefully slid on the ground making the water squirt out on her ankles, the rain is warm and seems unnaturally melt with her skin that's hot part for the running, part for the anxiety and the excitement for this childishly instinctually brave gesture of crazy love. Her mouth is panting in the rain and smiling at the same time, even if her tears can't still stop falling from her eyes confusing with the quick drops that crash from the sky.

A cold lightning suddenly breaks the black sky in the unnatural silence that usually precedes the thunder, it shines right above her head finally lighting Brittany's house in the distance. The light in her room is feebler now, it's the kind of light produced by her night-lamp. When she finally arrives in front of the building she's totally out of breath, so she puts her hands on her knees to get her wind back in order to recover the necessary energies to make that last effort: the climb. It was a Britt's idea, obviously, she thought about it one day of their freshman year, they were watching _Dawson's Creek_ on her television - it was an old episode or something.

"_San, we can do it too!" she came out with, in synchrony with the closing credits._

"_What?"_

"_You can put a ladder out of your window and I can-can … the tree! The tree, yeah! I can nail down some rungs on the trunk of the walnut so you can go up till the terrace and then come in my room!" _

_Santana really tried to explain to her that it was an awful and dangerous idea and she didn't even know how but she's found herself risk her own life and spine on the slippery rungs of Britt's walnut since that day._

The rain inevitably makes everything more difficult, but a handful of seconds after the brunette's feet finally touch the safe ground of the terrace. Her knuckles immediately run to her glass of the window.

The blonde's look is shocked and blank even if through the glass, the rain, the tears and the blonde's eyes, red because of the crying. For a couple of moments the blonde just stares at her and opens her arms with a questioning air. Santana in response points her finger at the window and then at the sky so Brittany finally recovering from the surprise runs to the window and opening it holds out one hand to her so that she can climb inside.

"Are you crazy or what?" she exclaims screaming to surpass the noising pouring of the rain making faces in correspondence with the shivering and annoying hammering of the drops of water on her body. Santana clings on to Britt's strong arm in order to heave herself up on the windowsill.

"Don't know. Maybe. But in a nice way, I think. Isn't it?" she ends finally leaping on the parquet of Brittany's room. The blonde closes the window with a sharp blow, then turns to her that's staring at her too with the most cute and lovely expression ever. She seems like a little sopping wet puppy. For a couple of seconds Brittany just rakes her like she's trying to find a fucking something in her that gives her the permission to be still mad at her, but her dark eyes that are still red because of the crying right like hers have never seem to her so in love and so she can't but smile at her briefly nodding with her head.

"Gosh. You're totally soaking wet!" she breaks out then quickly putting her hands around her waist and touching the fabric of her uniform, "I'll give you some clothes." she whispers licking her lips, "And while you'll fix yourself I'll clean the fuckin' mess you did on the floor!" she ends raising a bit her voice talking with her head in her wardrobe, while the brunette giggling stammers some not-so-persuaded apologies in her direction.

* * *

The floor is finally clean, a sour but pleasant scent of cleaner rising from the wooden parquet diffuses between the walls of her room. The rain is quickly lessening out of the window and the blonde is patiently waiting lying on the mattress on her side so that her look can lose in the dark cool night out there. She tightly hugs her sheet pulling it up until her chin like that smooth thin piece of fabric could hide her from the consequences of all that she did. The rhythmical noise of the drops that tick against the glass is slowing down so her tears begin to fall again from her eyes, almost by inertia, now that they can stay in tune with the rain.

San came here running under the storm, even totally legitimately mad at her, just because in her heart the brunette felt that this night more than others night she really needed her. She needed her wise words, her warm hugs, her sweet kisses, her comforting caresses, even just her presence. The sudden thought that her girlfriend loves her so much and that despite of that she hurt her so bad, hits her chest like a punch and the tears from her blue eyes start to seem icy brooks on her cheeks. She can almost still distinguish all the exact reasons she's crying away from her heart in the reflection of the salty clear fluid carelessly dripping off the top of her nose into the fabric of her pillow, dump by now. All her fears, all her mistakes, all her lies, all her confusions, each one filling one single tear.

"Deeply sorry for the endless waiting, milady." the scathing sensuous voice of the brunette whispers behind Brittany's back who gives a start and turns to her just in time to see her girlfriend making a professional bow to her, her long still-not-dry dark hair loosened on her shoulders, just the black T-shirt that she gave to her on, just her awesome honest smile on, just her pretty hands and her eyes always so meaningful. The blonde can't but smile, once again, through her tears, but this time she's not so good at hiding her gloomy sadness.

Santana's lips slowly become straight while her tender smile momentarily flies away perching on the writing table and patiently waiting for the next time that she will be happy, right there. One second, two steps and she's on the bed sitting with a leg bended under her bottom. One more second, two more understanding glances and she's hugging Britt strongly like it's the last time.

The peacefully warm sensation of the brunette's thin body wrapped around her torso runs over her like a gust of fresh wind in a steaming day of August does. Her slim arms are rightly strong to make her feel finally protected. She feels her quick breath blow almost into her ear. She feels their chests moving in synchrony one against the other. She feels her own heart slow down right like it refuses to contract more often in order to stay longer near Santana's. She feels her worries run for a second away from her mind making her believe that everything will be all right someway. Someday.

"L-look, I-I'm sor-ry-" the blonde starts to stammer totally dropped in her girlfriend's arms, while her whole body is shaking sobbing.

"Don't worry, babe, c'mon." the brunette tries to break her off rocking her body gently like she's afraid that she can shatter in a billion pieces one only moment on, rubbing her back with her hands drawing slow circles on it.

"-I-I kn-know I be-trayed yo-your tru-st-" she continues like she didn't even minimally hear her reassurances, sobbing more and more. Santana pulls her out from her arms and firmly grabs her shoulders trying to force her look into her eyes.

"Britt, c'mon. We don't have to talk about it tonight, we can talk another day, when we're both quiet and sensible and everything. Okay?" she attempts. This time Brittany seems to have listen to her. She's just staring at her, breathing, while the sobs are slowing down and down. Santana cutely smiles at her and with her right hand moves a rebel blonde wisp from her forehead.

"I really thought tha-at ther-there's nothi-ing el-se to do-" Brittany bursts out one more time returning to cry even more louder than before.

"I know, I know, just don't worry, babe, please, stop …" the brunette repeats with exhausted air putting her blonde hair behind her ear, but her girlfriend's blowoff doesn't mean any fucking stop.

"-be-cause I j-just thought th-at-" she restarts, but she suddenly finds Santana's lips on hers, a sparkling crash like always. Brittany's tears immediately melt with their mouths in contact and on the whole it's a good taste, jumbled up with the one of her, but painful. San's smooth soft lips intensely push against hers in a kiss that means so much more than a mere shout-up, she can say it because of her delicately sweet haste, she can say it because in the space of a few seconds the taste of their kiss changes when there're others tears in addition, she can say it because of San's hand that pulls her head closer snugly pushing in her nape. She sucks her upper lip between hers, she sucks her breath, her life away from her till their lungs beg for a breath of fresh air and they're forced to let go.

"Good." Santana whispers panting with her forehead against Brittany's, "You finally keep shout."

"You know, …" the blonde begins to answer breaking her sentence between a couple of deep breaths, "… I honestly wish you hushed me more often."

And now finally they can't but smile, almost a bit.

"Now, listen." the brunette restarts and with a quick peck on the lips she makes certain of her obedience, "I know you're sorry. I know." she explains carefully fixing her blonde hair behind her ears and following with her dark eyes the movements of her hands, "I didn't come here for this in any case." she states now staring at her blue eyes that are surprisingly locked in hers with charmed concentration, "I'm here because I've just argued with my girlfriend and I hate it." she continues to clarify drawing with a brushing touch of her hands the sides of Brittany from the nape to her fingers till intertwining with them, "But most of all I'm here because I can just imagine how hard this situation is for you and so I just, you know, thought that you might need your best friend." she ends with a tiny shrug of the shoulders cutely curling her full lips in a small understanding smile.

A new little tear falls from those blue eyes, but it's a different kind of.

"You can't know how afraid I was that you didn't come." she whispers throwing once again in her arms. Santana's only answer is to place two huge smacking kisses on her cheek, then she gracefully slides under the sheets and the blonde turns off her night-lamp. It's like that, lighted in the distance by the lonely moon that shook the clouds out by now, that the brunette clings to Brittany's back - their bodies perfectly fitted together like two different pieces of an only being – and breathing her warm sweet scent with the top of her nose leaned on Britt's neck, still with her fingers intertwined in hers, with a leg between hers that she finally can fall asleep.


	5. Sweet Laziness

**Let me know what you think!**

**the old phib**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Sweet Laziness**

"_Don't wake me up too soon,_

_I don't want to see the world,_

_I need to be no one,_

_All I want is just to be" (Elisa – "Sleeping In Your Hand")_

* * *

It's always hardly dramatic when you're right in the middle of a dream and something in your brain begins to intrusively ring making you annoyingly struggle to understand its fucking obscure source.

_Brittany's dancing on a huge stage, around her a stadium or something equally astounding, the crowd has just gone mad for her last dance-solo, Madonna is singing "Sorry" some feet above her on a kind of upturned platform, but no one seems to care nothing for her singing while everyone is hypnotizedly looking to Britt's hips and blonde hair waving on tune, two boys are even trying to climb on the stage desperately grasping with their yearning hands the ground under her spirited feet and the audience - thrown into ecstasies by now - is moving like a giant wave under a magic rain of fire created by the reflection of the floodlights. _

_But here's the ring. That damn fucking stupid ring. The music stops, the crowd suddenly shouts up, Madonna quits swaying her skinny hips and turns to Brittany with her most disapproving look ever. The blonde blushes all of a sudden. Something's intrusively vibrating in the anterior pocket of her shorts. It's her damn phone._

"_I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" _

"I'm sorry …" the blonde keeps mumbling whispering it like a mantra in a low voice till the shrill lights of the morning adding to that annoying nonstop ring wake her definitely up. Her right hand lets fall down like a lifeless body on her bedside table collapsing right on her cell-phone in order to make the biting noise of her alarm shout up.

"Fuck." she hisses rubbing her eyes with the palm of her hand. She's right thinking how much she liked that dream and how much she hates her alarm when a tiny moan coming from her back makes her finally realize how dreams count for nothing when the first thing she can look at in the morning is San.

Gently rising her thin arm that's still sleeping on her waist Brittany rolls on her back until she can face her. Her relaxed quiet expression that she unconsciously lets slip on her face just when she's sleeping is something priceless. Her breath is slow and deep, her eyelashes are still longer when they're joint, her closed eyes lightly quiver when they see a fancy they usually can't and her look is so defencelessly abandoned and infantilely exposed that the blonde could stay and look up to the amazing sight of her face lighted by the rising sun just forever.

"Good morning." she finally decides to whisper putting some wisps of dark hair behind her ear, but the only answer that she gets is another tiny moan.

"San …" she repeats, "We have to wake up …" she highlights with her face a bit closer, this time the brunette moans louder and cutely wrinkles her forehead still showing no sign of changing her mind.

"Honey …" she begins to whisper in a lower voice and letting her nose slide beneath her girlfriend's leads their lips in a barely grazing, "You'd better wake up if you don't want to lose this …" she ends whispering these words in San's slightly opened mouth.

She can't see her, because they're too close, but she can almost feel her lips curl in a pleasantly surprised smile.

"This …" Santana begins to whisper with her hoarser hotter voice of the morning and her drowsy eyes still closed and then places a soft chaste kiss on Brittany's lips, "… is a dirty …" she continues and then kisses her mouth again in the same place of the previous, "… blackmail." she finally ends and, after that she licked her lips, she let slip her right hand behind the blonde's nape and finally catches her mouth in a deeper kiss. Her lips lace around Britt's till the top of her tongue slowly slides delicately parting them. The contact between their tongues is an astounding discover, like every single time and even if they perfectly knows every inch of one another it produces pure electricity that run up and down their spine changing its direction in amazing synchrony with the coordinated movements of their lips.

Still without detaching their mouths Santana gracefully puts her knee on the other side of Brittany so that she can sit astride her long legs. Brittany can't resist her, she loves so every piece of her, she loves the way she takes control, she loves the way her tongue slows down at her leisure, she loves the way she puts her hair behind her ear because she knows how the blonde is ticklish and this may make her burst into laugh in the middle of their kiss. She loves her sides, her hips, her waist that she can flick through and caress with her hands when San kisses her like this. This is the kind of kiss she loves best. Automatically her hands slips under the brunette's black T-shirt like magically pulled by a magnetic force and at her touch Santana lightly moans in her mouth.

"Munchkin!" a strong female voice yells behind the door, followed by the noise of heavy steps upon the stairs, "It's late!"

Santana rolls her eyes in the air and patiently sits again on the mattress next to Brittany. "Great timing." she groans vexatious starting to passionately gesticulate, "She's got some kind of radar or s-"

"San …" the blonde interrupts her starting to rub the back of her hand watching the mattress.

"Yeah?"

"Could you … please … just … you know … hide …" she stammers pointing at the floor under her bed.

"What?"

"It's just that she wants to know when you sleep over here and … I forgot to tell her yesterday and … I just … wouldn't her to get mad. You know." she ends her explanation. The brunette's goggling at her with her mouth open, so Brittany brings her hands to her lips and gently kisses them several and several times with her most persuasive please-face.

"You know, …" the brunette begins without unlocking their gaze getting up from the bed and then down on her knees, "… sometimes I ask to myself: what have I done wrong in my life?" she continues stretching out on the ground and gracefully gliding on her belly under the mattress, "I suppose I might begin to consider my _fucking_ previous lives-"

"San! Shout up-"

"Good morning, munchkin!" a tall blonde woman about forty warbles throwing the door open. With a huge smile on her mouth she puts a cup full of coffee on Brittany's bedside table and then noisily sits on the mattress next to her daughter smacking a sound kiss on her forehead, "Are you feeling any better this morning?" she asks strongly rubbing her arm in a huge hug.

"Totally." the blonde whispers resting her head on the shoulder of her mom, "You know, just my eyes, they hurt a bit."

"Too many tears, munchkin." the woman answers tightening her in her arms. It's weird how much they resemble each other. The same hair, the same eyes, the same build. Brittany's got just the nose and the mouth from her dad. Even if maybe they're two of the things Santana loves best of her. Fuck it. She loves everything of her. "Listen, I was thinking, …" the woman restarts and clumsily moves her daughter's torso away from her arms, "… you can stay at home today. If you want, evidently." she corrects lastly fixing her hair behind her ears.

"Really?" Brittany unbelievingly whispers looking her right in the eye so that the woman almost blushes for a tiny second feeling to be a depraved parent and feels duty bound to justify her suggestion.

"I mean, school is virtually ended, isn't it? No more tests and classes, plus you had a rough time tonight, going by these puffy eyes." she clarifies tenderly smiling at her and caressing her cheek with her coarse thumb. Brittany leans in her strong hand and returns her a cute smile.

"Just for today, though! Don't get used to!" the woman ends kissing her forehead one more time, "I really got to go now." she says standing up with a little jump, "Have a nice day and have a rest." she closes with another huge smile still standing on her feet in front of her daughter in her smart brown pantsuit.

"Sure. Thank you, mommy. Good job." Brittany answers leaning on her hands and bending a bit her head.

"Bye, munchkin." the woman finally ends turning towards to the door, then she grabs the door-handle and walking out of the room while the door is slippery closing behind her back she finishes "Bye, Santana!"

Suddenly a garrulous laugh surfaces from under the bed and fills the unnatural silence following to the amusing going off of Mrs Pierce.

"Have I ever mentioned how much I love your mother, Britt?" she mutters through her laughs till she spots a flash of blonde hair and then her girlfriend's head downwards staring at her under the mattress.

"C'mon, come out there!"

"Yes, sir!" the brunette answers and with the same grace she glides on the floor and she climbs again on the mattress stretching next to the blonde and letting slip a arm behind her head.

"You're too noisy to live an affair on the sly." Brittany affirms leaning her head on Santana's who suddenly stands and sit.

"I'm too what?"

"Noisy. You're totally too noisy." she confirms nodding, "You're a noisy-type."

"I'm a noisy-type." the brunette repeats rising up her eyebrows with an all-but-persuaded air, then she sits astride her legs right like a couple of minutes before and menacingly going closer to her she whispers "Let's see who's the noisy-type."

Her lips slowly part getting closer and closer to the blonde's till they lightly touch, while the brunette teasingly moves away. Brittany's mouth breathlessly moves a bit in the air like catching for a breath and the blonde lets slip an eager tiny moan catching for her lips.

"Well, that's definitely a good start." Santana sensually croaks bringing back Britt's look from her lips to her eyes. The blonde's blue irises linger on her gaze till they become watery and she smiles at her fixing her dark hair behind her ear.

"Thank you."

Santana smiles a bit confused.

"For what?"

"For, you know, …" she whispers brushing her arms with her hands till arriving to her hands and holding them gently squeezing her palms, "… loving me as you do."

The brunette smiles even more cutely.

"Believe me, …" she whispers bringing Britt's hands to her chest and pressing them against her breasts, "… nothing could be easier." she ends and then without thinking twice she leans on her and she finally catches her mouth in her.

Her soft lips lace around Britt's and then her tongue slips through them one more time. Their bodies press tightly squeezing their hands still intertwined between them and pushing against the bedhead. Santana's legs tighten around the blonde's hips while her hands decide to slide away from the other's fingers and cup her jab. Britt's knees unconsciously rise from the mattress till one of them meet the brunette's already sticky wetness making her hardly moan in their kiss even if the fabric still separates the contact.

Santana's lips start to hug the skin of her jab till her ear where she gently sucks her earlobe. Brittany's hands automatically run again under her girlfriend's black T-shirt, but this time they take it away up to her head and then throw it on the floor leaving the brunette in her underwear. For a couple of moments she just stares at her perfect body, at her smooth light brown skin, at her sculpted abdominals, at her plunging neckline, at her thin waist, at her narrow hips, at her protective shoulders, at her long hair, at her deep dark eyes sparkling at her. She likes to remember the first time that she saw her body and try to notice the differences. They grew up. In so many different ways.

Santana loves when Britt looks at her like that, scanning her body with that cute fulfilled grin on her face, so she let her do till her hands grab her waist and pull her body closer. On the other hand she takes Britt off her T-shirt and then start to kiss her neck and her neckline. Britt's fingers quickly and gracefully unhook the brunette's bra and immediately sliding on her sides slip under her panties and remove them. Finally she strongly grabs her hips and almost lifting her body she rolls from under her now hanging over her and parting her thighs with her own knees. Santana instinctually tightens them against the blonde's and then drag her body against hers unhooking her bra and tightly pressing their breasts together while their mouth find the other one more time and so their tongues.

Brittany's lips start to go down kissing her neck, her neckline, her breasts till they reach a nipple and lace it gently sucking it and making the brunette moan arching her chest against her girlfriend's mouth. Her palm cups the other breast slowly squeezing it through her fingers. Santana's right hand then hold Brittany's nape in order to bring their mouths together once again. The brunette pants in their kiss when the air starts to be missing and the right hand of the blonde slowly slides on her belly, gently caressing her skin completely covered by pleasant shivers. Her fingers lightly brush on her swelling bundle of nerves making her body shake and then two of them go inside her making her loudly groan in Britt's mouth. The blonde's fingers begin to slowly rhythmically go out and inside her while her hips start to push arching against her body. When a third finger slides inside her Brittany feels her walls tighten around them and Santana's hips push harder and harder toward to the blonde's hand while the rhythm becomes almost frantic. Their mouth are still close, their hearts are still close, they breath the same breath, they steal the other's breath aching for more. Santana's head bends backwards sinking into the pillow, she can feel Britt's body on hers, she can feel her warm breath in hers, she can even smell her scent in the fabric of the sheets, she can listen to her voice sweetly whispering how much she loves her, she can listen to her own voice gratefully panting nearer and nearer to the edge and she can finally listen to her own voice screaming her name when she reaches the peak. Her muscles finally slowly relax, her arms unconsciously run around Britt's back, she's smiling now, with one of her cutest expressions, her blonde hair shines into the light of the morning while she abandons her head on Santana's chest. _Don't move. This is where I belong._


	6. Bittersweet Love

**Chapter 6: Bittersweet Love**

"_So I traveled back down that road_

_Wish she'd come back, no one knows_

_I realized, yeah_

_It was only just a dream" (Nelly – "Just a Dream")_

* * *

Brittany has never experienced before the agonizing sensation of feeling so torn between. Or almost not so often like she's doing in those days. Those days that precede graduation. It's, you know, astounding and distressing at the same time. They won Nationals, school is ending and summer is beginning, she's got so many friends and Santana is absolutely the best girlfriend in the world and everyone is so happy and excited that graduation is at the gate and no, sadness and gloom in sight of the near goodbye to old lives, teachers and friends are still waiting at the bottom of everyone's heart for the right moment to come out and fuck that sheer ridiculous happiness up.

And she feels so unfair and cruel every time that a thought like that passes throughout her mind. Because … God … she might be just glad and proud of her friends, right? Just happy that they made the grade and that they are all so excited and-and … God.

Mr Schue's talking now even if she's not hearing a single word of what he's saying. She doesn't care a shit after all. He's probably blathering some annoying obviousness about goodbyes, life and departures. As if he knew something about. She doesn't know the reason why, but the frizzy pomaded down that he had on his fucking head and his studiedly friendly smile were irritating her for the first time. Santana said that when mr Schue was born God became too late aware of the fact that He had left too less space for the pubic hair on his body and so He put it on his head, but this explanation has never persuaded her at all. God can't make mistakes in theory, can He? Britt's look falls on Finn. Santana said that God forgot that his mom had asked to Him for a baby girl and so He tried to fix the stuff someway. Looking at his floppy tits and at his female ass this is the first time that Brittany can't but agree. Santana looks at her, her lovely expression bended in a worried grimace, she catches her hand for a couple of seconds like she understood there's something wrong in her expression. The warm contact between their skins makes Brittany start a bit, but then she squeezes her girlfriend's hand to reassure her that it's not her fault.

In a couple of seconds Brittany feels already better, she deeply breathes trying to concentrate her attention on San's fingers between her ones, on the half of her glass that is full, full of love and full of her. But the destiny seemes to pick on her. Mr pubic-headed says something else and Santana's hand reluctantly slips out Britt's fingers. The seniors stand up and go to the piano. The chairs around her are half-empty now. This image suddenly scares and languishes her. It's an immediate flash-back and a foresight at the same time. It remindes her the times that Glee club was pathetically short of members. But for the first time it gains also to her an insight into the way it will be. Another icy shiver runs down her spine. And it's not a pleasant one. It's just cold and scaring. She's glad that San land her the black cardigan that she had in her locker. It's ridiculous. She knows it. This time she didn't forget the date. It's the end of May. And it's hot outside. But she's freezing. She wraps more tightly her arms around her chest, she crosses her legs and she lowers her head.

She loves the scent of San's clothes. They smell of her mom's detersive and San's perfume and … you know … they smell of her. Looking down she thinks that maybe this is the first time that she's wearing something black. She doesn't like it a lot. It's just that … black's not a color, you know. But now it seemes to her the most appropriate not-color to wear.

Finn starts to talk. He's fucking smiling with his clumsy crony-hair. Wonderful. All that Brittany needs now is for him to start predicating. It is the thing that she hates the most about men like him. The way that he adores to talk and talk and talk thinking that he always needs to teach you something. The way that he thinks to be the leader of Glee club. And yeah, she can't deny that sometimes his blind stubbornness helped the club to stay united and not to break in pieces, but … she doesn't know. She just has enough of him and of him egocentrism.

Brittany shouts her ears, his mouth muttering emits just a silent buzz to her. She moves her look to Santana. She's sitting on the piano smiling. Unfortunately not in her direction. Nothing has ever seemed to the blonde more senseless and unworthy. So often Glee club has been their refuge, their big improbable kind of family, their den where trying to be just themselves, they have done so many mistakes, they have hurt one another so bad, they have been so fool and childish and selfish, but if only she tried to make a balance sheet of her youth in high-school, well, Glee club would be the best thing ever happened to her. Everything has revolved around Glee club.

In that moment her girlfriend's dark eyes turn to her and their gazes locked. Finn is still buzzing some feet near her. What if Glee hasn't existed? What if she hasn't ever met miss Holliday? What if Finn hasn't been so plotting and mean to her girlfriend? What if they hasn't won Nationals?

Santana smiles to her still sitting on the piano while the music began to play and Brittany can't but recall the smile she has done to her just some days before, when they have turned back to school with the trophy. She can still feel every very moment of their triumphal entrance.

_They were all so scared that all the school slushed them like every single time their classmates seemed to remember that they were just some pathetic Glee losers. They hadn't talked about that during the trip, they had been just too excited, but when they were near the doors they looked at each other and they immediately knew that they were thinking the same thing. But then … God. Banners, confetti, applause, cries of joy, everyone was congratulating them and making them feel like they were the heroes of the school. They stayed in the hallway, everyone was jumping, everyone was hugging them, some girls of the freshmen year started to ask Rachel for a sign, principal Figgins and all the teachers were laughing and applauding, someone opened some bottles of sparkling wine, but - that you believe or not - the best thing hadn't happened yet. Santana suddenly turned to Brittany, she was laughing and her eyes were just so happy and grateful and thoughtless like the blonde had seen them not so many times. She was so beautiful and proud and without saying a single word she hugged her, she made her do a tiny casquet and she kissed her. In the crowded hallway. And it was like in that moment every single dream came true. She was kissing her girlfriend in a hallway crowded of people careless of principal Figgin's insane rules about gay PDA, while everyone was celebrating their victory elevating them to the state of heroes of the school. _

Finn finally closes his mouth, Rachel and Mercedes are coming towards to the juniors sitting on the chairs, then it's the turn of the guys. The words of "You Get What You Give" have never seemed to Brittany more ugly and insensitive than now, it might be a happy song, isn't it? A song talking about dreams and hopes, about people that are strong enough to never let go, but in this moment it talks about her collapse and about the fact that she has even deserved it. Quinn comes towards to her, then Puck, they are so happy and excited, everyone is clapping his hands and the enthusiasm seems begin to involve even who's more gloomy like Artie, Sam and especially Blaine, Tina is crying like always, but her tears are not so sad, Brittany's look instead is still static and weirdly pensive, Puck moves backwards, Santana for a tiny moment averts her gaze from Brittany, then hops off the piano and starts to run towards to her.

God. She seems so sad. Santana gives her a huge smile, she grabs her hands and waving them on the music sings to her trying to erase from her face all the melancholy. Her eyes are firmly locked in her blue ones, they're slowly seeping right into her heart, she can even catch a glimpse of it beating behind all that blue, but it's rhythm is unnaturally shuffle and this particular frightens her, because it always speeds up when the brunette is touching her. But not this time. Brittany begins to play along with her, but her look is just set and dull. Santana is trying her best to smile even harder to her. She can't understand the reason why her loving glance is not working. It always works. But not this time. One instant later she hugs her in a last desperate effort. She feels Britt's body freeze for a tiny moment, but then finally abandon in the sweet familiarity of her hug. The icy draught following their momentary parting is unpleasant, like always, but just a handful of seconds after their hands are still intertwined while they're raising a couple of steps with their friends. The stupid choreography thought up by Mr Grease and Flabby-Tits is to sit on the chairs and let the Juniors standing up in the middle of the room. The Juniors and Britt. How can be possible? Santana thinks for the billionth time in those two days. Right when she was believing that she could hold the entire world in her hands. She found the courage to come out, she was with the girl she loved best in the world, she won Nationals, she was near to graduate, she was near to start to live the life she has dreamt until she had born… but Britt is standing there, there, there with her black cardigan, there with her sad-panda expression, there with the Juniors…

The song finally ends. Santana senses two little invisible tears cross Brittany's cheeks. She would stand up and run to her to chase away that bad dark sorrow from her face, but she's wrong. Her tears are not invisible. They're real and plain. Sam spots them and wraps her sad shoulders with his strong arm. She slowly puts her blonde head on his shoulder. Santana's mouth becomes dry. Her muscles are tensed, her hand still on the chair in her interrupted attempt to stand up and rush to her. So this is the way it will be, right? Santana, Rachel, Finn, Mike, Puck and Quinn on one side, Brittany, Sam, Artie, Tina, Blaine, Sugar, Joe and Rory on the other. For a couple of seconds she must force herself not to give into reach out her hand in order to touch the immaterial wall that seems to her like separate for ever their different lives. Everyone is clapping hands. Everyone except for Santana and Brittany. The lesson is finished. The guys go out of the room laughing and jumping. Brittany lets Sam dragging her under his arm and with his fucking trouty mouth places a fraternal kiss on her head.

Suddenly Santana finds herself alone on her stupid red chair. Their voices dim until the silence starts to choke her. Her eyes begin to burn a bit while she stares at the piano maybe for the last time. Some of her useless nostalgia menaces to become salty fluid, but she doesn't care since no one is watching.

"You're so cute when you're not pretending to be tough." a soft voice whispers from the door. Santana smiles without even raise her gaze nor try to hide her tears.

"I don't pretend to be tough." she comments on, sniffing hard, then glances at her, "I am tough."

Brittany flutters towards to her, then she sit astride her legs, with her thumbs she dries her tears away and just stares at her with a sweet look.

"Maybe I'm just an emotional kind of tough." Santana thinks loudly bending her head on the right side. "You drive me emotional." she whispers, a new tiny tear coming with her words.

Brittany stays silent for another second savoring the moment, than joins her hands under Santana's chin and pulling it up with her forefingers she kisses her blanking definitely out the tears from her face.


End file.
